Goodnight
by An Fhomhair
Summary: RogerMaureenish, but more them as tentative friends. Mark and April are distracted, and Mo and Rog are left alone...they fight, make up, try to understand each other. Oneshot, rated for language


**Disclaimer: Me no own the pretties. Jonathan Larson's corpse own the pretties. xp (Okay, that was mean to say...but he **is **dead)**

**A/N: I really felt like writing something Roger/Maureen, and although this didn't really turn out that way, it at least kinda showed their relationship. Oh and...this is irrelevant, really, but it's musical-based, if you want to nitpick. All my stuff is musical-based. Well-enjoy. xp**

"Can't you live without sex for _one night_?" Mark yelled at Maureen.

"Can't _you _leave your fucking camera for one night!" she replied. The performer's eyes flashed angrily at Mark as she stormed out of their room, tossing her hair behind her. "I swear, you'd rather sleep with that camera than me! Shit, you'd rather sleep with _Roger _than me, wouldn't you!" She stomped down the hall and out into the main room of the apartment that she, Mark, Roger, Collins, Benny, and April shared. "Fucking bastard…" Maureen mumbled under her breath, ready to flop over on the couch and feel sorry for herself, until she noticed that someone else was already sitting there, head in his hands. She sighed. "Roger Davis-"

"Fuck off, Maureen! Please!" Roger didn't look up, but his voice sounded strangled, slightly hoarse. "Please."

Maureen glowered at him out of pure frustration. "Thanks, Rog. First I get shoved off by my boyfriend, and now my friends want me to go jump off a cliff, too. Oh, what the hell, everybody around here is a clod, maybe I'll just go get drunk or something-" She trailed off. "Why aren't you making any bitchy, sarcastic comments at me, Roger? That's _so _not normal for you."

This time Roger looked up at her, but only to give her a dirty look equal to 10 nasty comments. "Like I said, Maureen, just _leave me alone._" She realised with a jolt that his eyes were red and watery. Roger Davis, the tough punk rock star, crying? That just didn't _happen_. Maybe they were all going loony today.

"Okay, okay, you've been having a weeping session and you're embarrassed. I get it." Maureen replied exasperatedly. "You know, Rog, it doesn't make things better when you sit here and have a pity-party. You do know that, don't you? 'Cause even someone with a low IQ like yours should know that. You men are really a bunch of stupid assholes, did you know that?" She sat down on the other end of the couch. Roger looked decidedly away from her.

"Well, that sure as hell makes me want to talk to someone, doesn't it?" Roger muttered angrily. "Being told that I'm an asshole-"

"But I tell you that everyday!"

"Exactly!"

Both of them sat in silence. Maureen and Roger's relationship was a very tentative one which had some affection stored somewhere, deep under a pile of rude insults which they regularly distributed to each other. Actually, the affection was sort of in the insults. Maureen leaned back over the arm of the sofa, yawned, and closed her eyes.

Finally she spoke. "Well, if you're going to keep all your shit inside your head and not talk about it, then I guess I can't force you to." Maureen's eyes were still closed.

Roger clenched his teeth and sat up, running a hand through his short, blond hair. "You really wanna know, Mo? You really think you can understand? Why don't you try going and having a girlfriend who's all fucked up on drugs, and who runs off every night and then comes back to claim she loves you, and then you come back here and you try talking about it." He slumped back down, putting his face in his hands. Maureen didn't speak. "See, I didn't think you'd understand." He added, with biting sarcasm.

"Maybe I don't have a girlfriend on drugs who runs off every night," Maureen replied in a strangely quiet voice, half-opening her eyes "But if you even noticed one hell of a thing that goes on in here, you might realise that I have a boyfriend who spends every night with his fucking _camera_, and basically ignores me as much as April ignores you. Mark doesn't even talk to me about anything real, Roger. He only talks to you, damn you." The last part came out harsher than she meant it to. "And you know what else? It's really starting to piss me off, the way you guys act sometimes. You're not exactly inclusive, you know." Now it was Roger who was silent.

"I…umm…see." The guitarist finally muttered awkwardly. Maureen rolled her eyes and half-smirked at him.

"'You really think you can understand?'" she parroted in a mocking tone. "Oh no, I'm the amazing misunderstood Roger Davis, and you can't talk to me because I only like to angst over my stupid problems and act like an ass instead-"

"Aw, Mo!" Roger scowled at her. "Stop acting so-"

"Immature?" she finished, poking him in the ribs. "Hell, no."

"Then I guess I'll just have to stoop to your level of immaturity." Roger tackled her on the sofa, both of them laughing hysterically and not remembering why they'd been feuding a few moments ago. "You're goin' down this time, Maureen Johnson! We haven't had a wrestling match in ages, have we."

"Never!" shrieked Maureen, pushing him over and perching on his legs. "Ha. Feminine dominance strikes again." She smirked at him. "Gee, Roger. I really don't understand _anything_, do I? And I'm certainly no fun to be around at all." Roger, lying in a defeated sort of fashion on his back, raised his eyebrows, trying to look dignified, but instead dissolved into another bout of spontaneous laughter that kept them both cheerful.

Their laughter dying down, Maureen pushed herself off the couch. "I guess I'll go…see if Mr. Cameraman is feeling any more social." She shrugged. "Probably not, but hey; what the hell. There's always some hope." Roger grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Marky's not really that emotionless." He said, looking her levelly in the eyes. Maureen gave him a skeptical look. "Really- he can act more natural; you just have to…well…maybe stop exerting _too _much of your 'feminine dominance' on the poor kid?" An amused smile formed on Maureen's lips. "Well, whatever. Goodnight." Roger grinned and closed his eyes.

"Yeah…goodnight." Something sympathetic and nostalgic stirred in her when she looked at one of her oldest friends. _I wish we could always be like this instead of cursing each other out every day. _She thought, turning to leave. "Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"One more thing." Maureen walked back over, leaned over quietly, and kissed the guitarist on the forehead. Roger's eyes flew open, a bit surprised, and she laughed. "Goodnight."

_Finis _


End file.
